Full Circle

~ you have been here before ~

This is your reminder that the corridors of power are populated with whack jobs, neophytes, sycophants, idiots, dipshits, dumbfucks, and malevolent Mensa members. That it’s ripe with space lizards, half breeds, serial killers, clown car rejects, God complexes, Jesus freaks, and cult leaders. That it’s bursting with gun nuts, drug lords, drug dealers, drug addicts, Big Pharma, Little Napoleons, ex-cons, con men, grifters, hustlers, hucksters, and blackmailers. That it’s rotten with wetworks specialists, house painters, recycled assassins, Manchurian candidates, murderbots, and mutated bloodlines now led by inbred raving mad lunatics.

That if you’re flabbergasted at what he just said, and you’re stacking what he just said against all of the other things he just said and you have no more flabbers to ghast, you’re not alone. That to marvel at the word ‘grocery,’ or ‘reciprocal,’ as if these are new achievements in human language to tout, as if he has just discovered them, is not a sign of mental dexterity or well-being—let alone making fun of handicapped people, soldiers who get captured by the enemies of America, or the unattractive women he’s raped as if that is reason alone to dismiss the very idea of sexual assault. This is your reminder that the wannabe king is mad and the madness is unraveling him from his very center at an undying pace.

This is your reminder that it is indeed possible for The Management to allow absolute clowns to run the shop, and at times to lose control of the narrative and said clown. That The Management, while it has access to the best minds, the best science, the best thinkers, and the finest cutting edges of technology, will sometimes suffer from Hubris and shotgun itself in the foot. That it will think it is different, this time. That it is special, this time. That this is a slam dunk. That it has cracked the code and will not fall under the weight of environmental disaster or world wars or the people uprising and bringing the guillotine with them. This is your reminder that despite having it all The Management can lose it all, and likely will. Again.

That if the cruelty seems extreme, that’s the point. Taking a man who has been granted legal rights and protections by this country, from this country, to another country that wants to kill him, is the point. Dropping him into a supermax prison set to house 40,000 gang members in stifling inhumane conditions is the point. That this man—who is protected—is not protected, and can be shipped off to CECOT in El Salvador whenever Donnie Darko pleases is the point. Separating children from their parents, and making these children represent themselves in a court of law that doesn’t speak their language, and then stripping away their right to pro bono counsel, is the point. Arresting people who are completely within their right to freedom of speech under our laws is the point. Snatching them off the street is the point. The Black Mariah is the point. You could be next is the point. This is your reminder that The Cruelty™ has become a highly addictive and coveted substance, and the withdrawal that is coming from its denial will wreak havoc in the system.

This is your reminder that the bully approach is a technique, yes, but that it doesn’t always work, and is not a lasting means of rule. That whipping off Executive Orders against law firms The Wig doesn’t like, while splashy and effective in coercing some law firms to bend the knee, is only drawing the anger of the law community at large. That the Revenge Tour is already blowing a few gaskets. The wheels are already falling off and running on rims, cutting sparks on the street for all to see—which only looks cool for about a minute, tops. Then it’s just sad. That the expectations of wanton violence and retribution and fascist jackboot cosplaying are proving to be quite lacking in presentation or oomph. That hauling off all the pinko commie hippie gay black indigenous snowflake immigrant pet-eating they/thems is not happening as expeditiously as promised. This is your reminder that all the fascist wet dreams are proving to be dryer than Republican pussy in Death Valley.

That hope can have fangs and lockjaw. That beauty can also carry an edge, a blade, thorns, poison on the tip of a shimmering claw. Beneath the neon blue of the Dart Frog is batrachotoxin, beneath the luminescent green of the Boomslang snake is a hemotoxic venom. That mascara looks good on a mean mug. That despite your softness, your empathy for your neighbor, you can throw hands. You may know every Taylor Swift song down to the last lyric, but you are also a bad motherfucker. You can purr beneath your tigered hide, your lion’s mane, your panther claws. That you can carry joy right next to your speed-loaders of hollow tips, that we can sing along together while we sharpen blades. This is your reminder that hope will keep you warm in Winter.

Yes, this is all really happening. You are in the right time, right place, left with little resources but a strong suspicion there is a better tomorrow, and it's worth fighting for. This is your reminder there’s no better time than the present. If not now, then when? If not you, then who?

Now the chickens have come home to roost, and they got razor blades for spurs. Time to be a Winter soldier.